


Comeuppance

by deklava



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Molly will kill Sherlock, Rape Roleplay, Rough Sex, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 17:37:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3701019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deklava/pseuds/deklava
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John told him once that he had more nerve than common sense. Sherlock laughed it off: he loves John dearly, but the constant attempts to rein in his genius are amusing. Who needs to be careful and plan when you’re brilliant enough to be the world’s only consulting detective?</p>
<p>When two muscular bodies jump onto the bed in unison, pinning him face down beneath the duvet, his next thought is <i>Me, apparently.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Comeuppance

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I'm still alive! Thank you to all for your enquiries and support. RL has been so hectic for ages, but I promise that my fics are still in progress and will be updated soon. In the meantime. here's a bit of drabble I wrote over the weekend. Enjoy!

Sherlock rolls onto his front and tunnels beneath the duvet until the top of his head is barely visible. Those two wankers will be showing up at the window any moment now, and for this to work, it needs to look like Molly is occupying the bed.

_I didn’t know there were men watching me at night._

_Well, now you do, Molly. And when I’m finished with them, they won’t bother you -or anyone- again._

_Shouldn’t the police be involved?_

_They will be._

_Sherlock, are you sure you want to do this?_

_You know my methods by now, Molly. I never ask unless I’m sure._

When he hears movement outside, Sherlock tenses with anticipation. They will get in easily: Molly’s windows are a burglar’s dream. Then he will spring off the bed, confront them, and make sure they don’t forget this night any time soon.

******

The window frame whispers in its casing as it is pushed up. Two sets of feet hit the rug softly. Sherlock processes it all.

One older and heavier than the other, but remarkably agile. His confederate moves cautiously, deliberately. Has hunted humans before. Former soldier, perhaps?

His gloved fingers close around the tire iron tucked under the pillow.

They begin to whisper.

“Remember: I’ll grab her, you shut her up. And me first.”

“I know the fucking drill.”

“Good. Christ, my balls are blue.”

They’re about to be black and blue, Sherlock thinks as he gets ready.

******

John told him once that he had more nerve than common sense. Sherlock laughed it off: he loves John dearly, but the constant attempts to rein in his genius are amusing. Who needs to be careful and plan when you’re brilliant enough to be the world’s only consulting detective?

When two muscular bodies jump onto the bed in unison, pinning him face down beneath the duvet, his next thought is _Me, apparently_.

*****

Thick, leather-covered fingers grab his curls, raise his face off the pillow, and shove a ball of cloth into his mouth. When he struggles and makes decidedly unfeminine protests, the assailants go still.

“What the fuck? Who’s this?”

A torch, bright and searing, shines into his eyes. He squeezes them shut and tries to move his arms, but they have him pinioned.

“Christ,” the older one breathes, sounding awed and enraged at the same time. “We’ve bloody been had.”

******

_“I don’t know, Sherlock.” John shook his head._

_“What’s there to know? You and Lestrade climb in through the window. You overpower and use me. Provided you can both maintain erections, it should be quite enjoyable for all of us.”_

_Lestrade chuckled and stirred his tea._

_John still had questions. “So what can’t we do then? I need to hear some limits.”_

_Of course he did. Sherlock smiled._

_“No blood or facial bruises. Clients find those rather alarming. Feel free to mark me anywhere else though.”_

_Lestrade’s eyes gleamed. “What if you can’t sit down the next day?”_

_“Oh, I hope that will be the case.”_

******

“Son of a bitch!” The other man’s soft voice tightens in anger. “Let’s knock the bastard on the head and just get out of here.”

“Not so fast.” A hand slides down past Sherlock’s shoulder, into his shirt. The detective growls around the gag and tries to kick backwards, but the duvet hinders movement. “I think we can still get what we came for.”

Fingers find his right nipple and pinch it just hard enough to feel good. When he squirms, chuckles ensue.

“I think he liked that. What do you think?”

“You’re serious?”

“Hell, yeah.”

“I don’t know.” The second, younger man sounds eager and hesitant at the same time. “Never done a bloke before.”

“Oh, come on. You ever done a woman in the arse?”

“Yeah.”

“This’ll be just as good.”

Sherlock renews his efforts to break free and grab the tire iron. But their combined strength holds him in place as they toss the duvet back and snap handcuffs onto his wrists. Heart racing like a thoroughbred, he tries to spit out the gag, but they use a strip of fabric to tie it securely across his mouth.

The older man reaches down and clasps Sherlock’s jaw, hard. “If this is a setup, mate, I think it’s just backfired.”

Seconds later, one of them presses a wet rag to his nose. The detective gives a muffled yell and tries to jerk his head away, but they hold him tight, and soon the world starts spinning. Before he can pass out, the cloth is taken away, leaving him conscious but completely at their mercy.

******

_“I’m not sure about the Halothane, Sherlock.”_

_“I’ll be perfectly safe, John. Are you a doctor or aren’t you?”_

_“Yes, but-”_

_“It’s settled then.”_

_“Sherlock, Sherlock,” Lestrade said. “Can’t do anything without risking your life, can you?”_

_“No. And that’s what makes me feel alive.”_

******

Sherlock is too weak to throw them off as they roll him onto his back, uncuff his wrists, and reattach them to the iron bedframe. His coat and shirt are opened and his trousers and pants removed with remarkable efficiency.

“Come on, bitch,” the older man whispers, groping his arse before fondling his cock, which is hard and dripping. Sherlock tells himself that it is from the skilful stimulation and not because he actually wants this. “You’re going to love this- unless you fight us. Then trust me, it will hurt.”

Sherlock glares blearily. His vision is off-kilter thanks to the drug, but he can make out the man’s close-cropped silver hair and glittering brown eyes. Late forties, commanding air, like a policeman....

A second set of fingers, slick with lube, slides between his arse cheeks and prods his clenched hole. Sherlock tries to close his legs but can only summon the strength to squirm. He turns his head and eyes the second man, who is shorter and has dark blond hair.

“Fuck, he’s tight. This might take awhile.”

Rough hands grasp the detective’s hair.

“We have all night.”

Sherlock shivers.

******

_“If you’re gagged, how will we know if we’ve gone too far?” John asked._

_“You can’t possibly go too far.” Sherlock’s thigh pressed against his under the coffee shop table. “It’s me, remember?”_

_“Oh, I don’t know.” Lestrade gave John a significant look. “We might just surprise you.”_

_Sherlock perked up. Friday night couldn’t come too soon, although he might._

******

The man with the softer voice slowly fingers him open, digits slick and warm. When Sherlock’s muscle relaxes enough to allow two fingers, they seek and find his prostate so quickly that he thinks, medical professional.

He grunts and trembles as heat and pleasure spread throughout his lower body.

“Told you,” the older man says, although it’s not clear who he’s talking to.

When a third finger is introduced, it hurts enough to make him jerk away and hiss. “Bitch,” the younger man chides before a slick fist closes around his erection and strokes it. “If that bothers you, wait until you meet my cock.”

Sherlock’s hips pump as he fucks that hot fist, distracting him from the pain as he is opened even more. This is so wrong but it feels so good, it takes away his will to fight and makes him want to be fucked hard and deep.

The mattress dips as the older man crawls around to Sherlock’s head. A blunt, wet erection brushes against his flushed cheek, smearing sticky fluid across his skin.

“In a few minutes,” the man says, “this is going in your arse. My mate and I will fuck you so hard that you won’t pull a stunt like this again.”

Sherlock jerks his face away but cruel fingers yank his curls and force him back.

“Is he ready, J? I can’t hold out much longer.”

The younger man laughs as he withdraws his hand. “No, but go right ahead.”

******

Sherlock draws his knees closer as the silver-haired man strips completely naked. Except for a slightly softening middle, this assailant is in good shape, with a large cock that is wet and deep red even in the dimness.

“Don’t be so shy,” the man chides. “You know you want this. Bet that’s why you swapped places with your girlfriend, right?”

Sherlock kicks out weakly. The smaller man seizes his throat.

“Do that again and we’ll be screwing your corpse.”

They tug him toward the centre of the bed, stretching his cuffed arms tight, and push his legs roughly up and apart. Sherlock lets them position him, even though the cuffs are biting into his flesh, too dizzy to fight.

“Good boy,” the older man smiles. His companion actually strokes Sherlock’s cheek gently, as a lover would, but the detective turns sharply away.

When he feels a thick, hot cock push against his still-sore entrance, stretching it to agony point, Sherlock snaps.

******

_“For my peace of mind if nothing else,” John said, “I want us to agree on a safety signal if you want to stop.”_

_“Fine. If I lose my erection, it means stop.”_

_“Why did you bother, John?” Lestrade sighed._

******

“No!” he yells around the sodden cloth, digging his heels into the mattress and trying to pull away. But two sets of merciless hands keep him trapped as his assailant plunges into him in one quick and painful movement. Perversely, his own cock remains just as stiff, bobbing wildly with each inward thrust.

“You stubborn cunt,” the smaller man seethes. “Fuck him, G, and don’t let him come. Then it’s my turn.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” G grunts before collapsing his full weight onto Sherlock’s much thinner frame and snapping his hips in and out. His breath scorches the detective’s neck. “Hnngh, fuck, so tight!”

Sherlock groans as the man’s undulating body slides across his trapped cock, building a teasing friction that brings him ever closer to orgasm. He tries to arch his back and get something out of this before they leave him here, bruised and leaking semen all over Molly’s bedsheets.

The younger man sees what he’s doing. “Don’t think so,” he says before slipping his still-slick fingers between the two bodies and clasping Sherlock’s erection at the base. Tears of frustration and agony course down Sherlock’s cheeks.

_No, no, no._

Above him, G’s movements speed up, banging the headboard against the wall with each inward push. Then, to Sherlock’s genuine surprise, he pulls out, squats back on his heels, and fucks his fist until a guttural cry rips forth semen splashes all over the detective’s chest and face. Sherlock closes his eyes and clenches his teeth as each drop marks him.

“Bloody perfect. Best arse I’ve had in ages,” G breathes as his shoulders slump and he slides off the bed. “Your turn, J.”

J’s grin is both hungry and cruel. He releases Sherlock’s cock, undresses hurriedly, and climbs back on the bed. With a speed that makes the detective’s stomach lurch, he flips his plaything over, descends on the other man’s back with a growl, and plunges in.

His cock is shorter but thick, its crown brushing across the detective’s prostate as he begins to move. Sherlock no longer tries to contain his moans, even though the position digs the cuffs deeper into his wrists.

“Listen to him,” J crows as his thrusts increase in velocity. “The slut fucking loves it.”

“That right?” G leans over the bed, grabs Sherlock’s hair, and forces eye contact. “Want us to come fuck you like this every night?

Sherlock’s ego gives way. He is not the world’s only consulting detective right now, with people (Mycroft among them) begging him to solve their mysteries and save the world. He is a reckless, egotistical bastard getting what he deserves and needs. Craves, even.

“Yes,” he whimpers.

“What’s that?” G tugs down the gag and pulls the cloth from his mouth. “Say it again.”

“Yes.” Sherlock is too aroused now to feel any shame in surrender.

J’s teeth brush his shoulder. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, I want you both to find me and fuck me like this every night. I want you to use me as your bitch. Please!”

“Good boy.”

J fucks him harder, driving him into the mattress and slapping their balls loudly together. Then the smaller man grunts, shudders, and spills one warm load after another into the desperately willing body beneath him. Sherlock takes it all, whimpering in unfettered pleasure.

“Want to come?” G asks, staring into his captive’s tear-filled eyes as the mattress springs squeal. “Huh?”

Sherlock nods, mouth open as J’s cockhead repeatedly strokes his sweet spot. “Please.”

“Go on then.”

Ecstatic in his surrender, Sherlock meets each thrust until he is spraying all over his belly and the duvet.  It’s one of the most intense orgasms he has ever had, and combined with the Halothane, leaves him completely boneless.

He’s so out of it afterward that he doesn’t even feel  J pull out, the cuffs leave his wrists, or the warm, wet flannels wiping him clean. It’s only when a fresh duvet covers him and two naked bodies embrace him on either side that Sherlock’s awareness returns.

The room is quiet save for their combined breathing. Sherlock opens his eyes and gazes from side to side. John and Lestrade gaze back.

“Alright?” John asks, clasping his hand.

Sherlock nods. Lestrade’s warm hand slides up and down his hip.

“You were fantastic, Sherlock. Bloody brilliant.”

Sherlock wants to embrace them both and thank them for giving him this and so much more. He also knows he should get up and change the bedsheets before Molly discovers that her room was the scene of a bit of rough roleplay. But he’s too satiated and contented to move or even talk. So he does neither.

John and Lestrade understand, like they always do. They shift in closer, soothing his aching muscles with their body warmth, and join him in a well-deserved sleep.

 

 


End file.
